Beautiful Nerd

NCTE is great for a million reasons, but one of the things I love best is getting books signed by some of my favorite authors.

Sometimes this is totally chill. I stand in line with the rest of all the fangirls and boys with my post-it that has my name on it so they can sign it TO KATIE. I get my turn to meet the author, I tell them I enjoy their work and thank them, and everything is great.

Other times I make a complete ass of myself.

Let me set the scene: I love Young Adult Literature. I REALLY love YA Lit written by and about people of color A) because it’s a window for me into not just a life I don’t know enough about, but for a glimpse into the cultures of many of my students’ lives. And B) because it is a mirror for the majority of my students.

When I met Jason Reynolds, I could not tell him enough what important work he was doing for kids like my students.

Back to today. Nic Stone–a brand new author on the YA scene who is going to be a HUGE–was signing her book Dear Martin in the exhibit hall. I hopped in line 20 minutes before the signing started and was still probably the 40th person in line.

I had it all planned out how I was going to thank her for being a voice for my students, for the important work she is doing, for her story-telling and her words.

I was going to tell her how this would be my copy, and that I fully planned to purchase the book for my students.

I had plans to be normal.

And then it was my turn, and I got close to her and all my words fell out of my head and I burst out with: you are so beautiful!

Look at my dopey smile next to her loveliness. And this picture doesn’t even do her justice! But it definitely shows my fangirl, dope-face nerdiness loud and clear.

She was gracious and wonderful and she signed my book and I said thank you. As I walked away I looked down at my book to see her signature and this is what she had written:

 I mean.

Nic Stone told me that I’m beautiful.

I’m pretty much good for the rest of the weekend.

Gone Girls

Hello from St. Louis!

Having the goal to blog each day is ridiculous when you have a giant conference in the middle of it. Ah well, at least I have a good travel story to tell you.

We decided to drive to St. Louis (and by “we” I mean the Pastor’s Wife, her 13-year old daughter N, and me). It’s less than seven hours and it’s much more cost effective than flying and then having to ship our books home and all that jazz. So we drove.

I brought along our Garmin, named Judy, to get us there in case we started gabbing, The PW downloaded a book by Jason Reynolds to listen to, and N had the whole back seat to herself. It was going to be great!

Since I had to work yesterday, we decided our departure time would be between 6 and 6:30pm. That would get us to St. Louis around midnight. Late, but not terrible.

When PW and N arrived to pick me up, I said my good-byes to the kids (which involved Eddie clinging to me, Alice screaming that she wanted to come too, and Charlie yelling he hated me and he didn’t want me to hug him–he has issues dealing with Big Feelings and saying “goodbye” for five days involves Big Feelings), kissed Cortney a thousand times, and finally jumped in the passenger seat.

“We have a full tank of gas!” PW declared as she backed out of my driveway. I got Judy Garmin up and running and we were off.

If this was a book or movie, that statement would be seen as foreshadowing.

We made it to Illinois and stopped at the Oasis to try to get the fast past working. That didn’t work because they were closed; however, we only ended up paying $1.10 in tolls, so it was a wash. Thinking that was our biggest drama, we set off for the next leg of the trip.

We listened to a book for about 90 minutes, which took us deep down into Illinois. Realizing we had been in the car for around four or five hours, I casually asked PW, “hey, how is our gas looking??

“Oh! The light is on!” she responded.

Huh. Ok, no problem, just pull over and get gas.

Except that we were in the middle of Illinois and it was like 11pm local time. So I whipped out Google Maps and said, “gas stations” and up popped three all within 5 miles. After two more miles, we pulled off the highway and into a Shell station.

That was closed.

But wait! Pumps will still work! They were on! They took the credit card and went through all the prompts and then…

no gas.

Huh. Ok, well, the next gas station is about 5 miles away. The car started, so we figured we could make it happen. Instead of putting us back on the highway to the next exit, Google maps had us take this weird little access road that ran along side the expressway and had fields or something and a train track and gravel roads on the other side.

Creepy, but whatever. We were close to gas.

Until we started slowing down and coasting.

Because we were out of gas.

I saw the panic creeping in on PW’s face and I thought quickly and said, “it’s fine. We will be fine,” as she called AAA. I did not feel 100% fine, but what does freaking out do? It doesn’t put gas in the tank, that is for sure.

So while she got on the horn with AAA, I checked to see how far away we were from a gas station. It looked like only a couple miles on Google Maps, but who knew if that one was open, right?

Once we were assured AAA was coming, I tried to reassure my friend with a little white lie, “I’ve run out of gas before. It’s seriously not a big deal. We will be fine.” It worked! Instead of worrying, we took out our conference schedules and started making lists and planning our time.

I’m not kidding when I say this was a creepy area though. It was pitch black dark and only about four cars passed us the entire time. One stopped to see if we were Ok (don’t worry, mom. We didn’t get out or open our door to strangers. We assured them we were taken care of). A train went by at one point lighting up the area enough to see that all the cross-roads were gravel. So creepy.

But my lie of having been through it before got us through. When the AAA guy showed up, he chuckled at how close we were to a gas station. Sure enough, once he gave us enough fuel to get moving, we crested a hill and man-made lights twinkled welcomingly to us.

Good grief.

Before we got on the highway in our full-tank-of-gas vehicle, I confessed my lie (because I can’t fricking lie and sit with it), and PW turned to me and said, “you’re going to blog this, aren’t you?”

“HELL YES I AM. I have a blog-a-day goal for November.”

We finally got to our hotel just after 1am local time (which means our bodies thought it was 2am). I had been up for around twenty hours.

You can imagine what today has been like which is why I am currently in our hotel room after presenting this morning and attending another session.

I need some rest.

My Hearts

I love you, my dear family. Stay safe and save me some snuggles.

Bedtime

I’m going to miss bedtime over the next five nights.

It can often times get pretty frustrating. We give the kids an hour of wind-down time starting at 6:30pm to get jammies on and watch a couple of shows as a family. Usually we watch Curious George and one other choice. There is often the battle of calming down after a full day.

But then sometimes they do cute things like set up a back-scratching chain in front of Word World, and I am reminded that this time is so fleeting.

And as hard to settle down as they can be, our three goobers are some of the best snuggly relaxers we could ask for.  While they love being wild, they also love being close and cozy.

And it’s that before-bed time routine I will miss over the next five days because as calming as it is for them, it’s a vital part of my day too. I get to just sit, many times with a child plastered to me, but without work or any other distraction from my day.

Cortney and I take turns putting either the boys to bed or Alice. Two nights of each and then switch. When I put the boys to bed, we cuddle into Eddie’s bottom bunk and read books. Charlie generally chooses a book, then we read Harry Potter after that. And then, even though they are eight and five, they still ask me to lay by them, which means I tuck them both in and then I curl up in Eddie’s bottom bunk next to him until they both drift off to sleep.

Is it necessary? No. But I am almost certain our days of this are numbered and I can’t bear to be the one that ends it.

On my nights with Alice, we cuddle up in the glider in her room while her glow worm, Glowie, plays for 10 minutes. In that time she chats and chats and chats about everything. Sometimes she sings to me. Sometimes I sing to her. I always nuzzle my nose into her hair to sniff in the remnants of baby that are left. After Glowie “goes to sleep,” I tell her “two more minutes means two more songs.” Tonight she picked to sing a made up song of Loo Loo Loo’s and La La La’s followed by “Jesus Loves Me” three times.

Then I pick her up, rub noses Daniel Tiger style and say, “I love you, Alice. God Bless you, Alice.” And she smiles and says, “Love you mommy. God Bless Alice.”

I tell her that her daddy will get her in the morning and to have sweet dreams. She rolls to her side and pushes her glow bear’s tummy on.

Yes, my kids have stall tactics and fight bedtime. Yes, Charlie throws major tantrums about brushing his teeth. Yes, Eddie worries and bites his nails about things when he should be sleeping. Yes, Alice thinks she needs one more drink, one more hug, and one more cuddle with one of her babies. It’s rarely perfect.

But it’s ours.

Travel Anxiety

Since having kids, this is the fifth time I am traveling away from my family to a conference, and I still get horrible travel anxiety.

It’s not the actual traveling that freaks me out. In fact, I love the traveling part. I’ve discovered that not only am I great road trip buddy (this I have long known), but I do airports and ubers and taxis well too. Who knew this introvert actually does well with public transportation?

Anyway, it’s not the actual traveling; it’s the days leading up to leaving. I am a fricking hot mess.

I stress out about getting everything done on my To Do Lists for home and school so that my transition to not being here goes smoothly. Most days you can’t tell I have OCD just being seeing me, but these days leading up to leaving it gets painfully obvious that I cannot stop myself from the compulsive obsessing—which I guess is the definition of my OCD diagnosis: not being able to stop myself.

It starts out with lists. I make lists of everything. I even have a Master List of Lists and as I accomplish a list, I check that list off the Master List.

Then each time something “not on the list” pops up, I over-react.

What’s that? The kids all need winter coats, snow pants, and boots? NOW? THIS IS NOT ON THE LIST. I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS EXTRA COST. WE HAVE A STRICT BUDGET FOR THIS.

Then I burst into tears, have a minor panic attack, and curl up in a ball until Cortney puts on his soothing voice and gets me to unclench.

On top of all this, I begin to have intrusive thoughts about “what if…?” But I can’t shut the intrusive thoughts down, and I’ve figured out via YEARS of therapy, that I shouldn’t try because I make the panic worse. Not only do I panic about what happens in my thoughts, but I panic that I can’t stop the thoughts.

I have tell myself, “This is an intrusive thought,” and let it play out if that doesn’t stop it. But I have to name it.

This is exhausting when I have to do this every time I think of something going wrong, or worse–something happening to me, Cortney, or the kids.

And then this is when my sleep anxiety kicks in. Will I get enough before the trip? Will I get enough during the trip? Will I snore because of this sinus infection that is on it’s way out (thank you, antibiotics)? Will I keep everyone else up? Will I stress out about my sleep sounds, thus keeping myself awake and being a total ball of emotional over-tired awful for the entirety of the trip? Do I have a plan to get the rest I need post-trip?

Will I miss Cortney and the kids too much? This is a definite yes. I cry at least once every time I go away from them.  At some point I will get overwhelmed, feel so very tiny in a huge city so vastly far from my loves, and I will cry. I know it will happen, and I still stress about it.

I DON’T KNOW WHY.

But here is the reality: I will cry and miss my family and have at least one introvert-induced panic attack, BUT this will also be so fun because I am road-tripping with a couple of my favorite people, sharing a room with people I feel close enough to fart in front of (heh…sorry, not sorry), and I’m going to get so inspired and filled as an educator.

It’s going to be great DESPITE this stupid anxiety leading up to it.

I Am Not In Church

For the second time in a month, I am not in church with my family.

The first time I was pretty horribly sick. I still have that sinus infection, but it’s not what is keeping me home today. I went last week and felt enormously…awkward. It wasn’t the people (although sitting toward the back didn’t help my feeling of disconnect), or the message, or really anything the church or the pastoral staff did or did not do.

I love our church because the familiar ritual of the pattern of the service have always given me a sense of calm in my crazy busy week.

But lately, it hasn’t been enough.

I am home today because, yes, I have tons to do before leaving for St. Louis on Thursday. I have school stuff to work on, writing to do, and between now and then this is the only alone time I will have. I needed these couple hours.

However, there is something else too.

My faith is hurting right now and going to church feels empty.

Whew. That was hard to write.

There is so so so much bad in the world and I do not feel comfort in that hour service like I used to. It feels…empty. It feels hollow. It feels like it’s not doing anything to help.

As we go through the familiar patterns of worship, I see how many people seem to be just “there.” They are not paying attention, on their phones, or more occupied with the drawing their kid is doing than what is being said/done in front of church. So what is the point?

What is the point of showing up if you’re not really there?

What good is sitting in church doing? What good are the words being said, the songs being sung, the bread being broken if we are just…there. How is that helping the the immense pain and suffering in the world?

I don’t know that there is a reason for everything. I don’t think I believe that everything bad eventually will bring a good. I don’t know if shooting up a church or a concert has a “good” to “even it out”. Or that God “has a plan” for shit like that.

I don’t think racism or sexual assault or bullying is part of anyone’s plan, let alone a God that is supposed to be love and goodness.

Yeah, I used the reason of needing to get stuff done to stay home today. And it’s not a total lie, but I definitely don’t want to sit in church and paint a friendly face on when I pass a peace I’m not sure I believe right now.

So I am not in church today.

Watching Them Learn

We had parent teacher conferences for both boys this week. I get nervous before parent teacher conferences, I admit it. I’ve been on the teacher side for fifteen years and I never get anxious for that even though I know that I will have to have difficult conversations sometimes. Sitting on the parents side of the conference is a whole different feeling though.

We have not had to have any hard discussions with teachers about our kids, and for that I am thankful. Yes, Eddie has been known to have impulse control issues, and we had a bit of a rough start to Kindergarten with Charlie learning the routine and learning respectful behavior with all adults, but we have been lucky to have two kids who have not had any academic concerns.

That said, I walked out of conferences this year with a whole new respect for elementary teachers.

I’ve always laughed when people have said they think middle school would be the toughest. Yes, it’s a tricky age, but I don’t have the same kids all day teaching them ALL the subjects. I worry about the ELA standards, not ALL the content area standards. Plus I get a guaranteed planning hour every day. I don’t have to work around specials teachers who don’t have their own classroom or recess duty.

As Charlie’s teacher handed us writing, drawing, and math samples from the first term compared to current assessing, I was no less amazed than when we went through this with Eddie. The vast improvement is almost unbelievable at that age. In less than a year, Charlie went from a non-reading little kid, to someone who is reading a little above level and writing words by himself. It’s astounding to me to watch that learning take place.

Then we walked to Eddie’s teacher where we saw social studies scores and math scores and writing samples. He, too, is reading a little above level, and has a fierce love of learning.

Holding a salt dough map of Michigan with all the geography terms labeled smacked me in the face with how much kids learn and grow at this age.

Elementary teachers must be magicians of sort. They literally mold and shape our children’s minds into something totally new throughout the year.

I realize that I probably know more about standards and laws and proficiency and the research about whether to retain or not to retain, about whether homework is actually good for kids than the average parent because it is my job to know these things. However, knowing that stuff and watching it in action with your own children is very, very different.

I know, for instance, that a child’s success in school and college is linked to their ability to read at grade level by third grade and if they are behind then, they may stay behind. I also know that retention solves nothing without intervention. I know a good early childhood education is key and that third grade is the pivotal year.

I know these facts, but I am watching them in motion with my own children and it’s amazing.

 

One of my most favorite parts of being a mom–that I did not foresee when we were in the baby stage–is watching my children learn.

Eddie asks so many questions! Just tonight, he mused, “When I spin my water bottle, why does the water always go down?”

(Of course,  I was tired, so I said, “physics.”)

We went to my district’s fall theater production of Freak the Mighty and he was FULL of questions about language and acting and bullies and books and writing.

Charlie wants to sound out every word! Today he eagerly did all his homework that was supposed to take until Wednesday because he feels so accomplished and proud when he writes whole sentences (with punc-shay-shon, mom mom!) by himself.

He reads his Just Right Library book over and over to anyone who will listen, and almost every night he reads Brown Bear, Brown Bear because he can.

His current favorite game is chess because he loves strategy. HE’S FIVE. HE LOVES STRATEGY.

I would like to say I am proud of my kids–because I am. But here’s the thing: I am actually amazed by them. The things they learn and know and say. The way they think.

Getting to have a front-row seat to that and cheer them on is an honor. It’s an honor to have these small people call me mom.

Pharmacy Stories

I had to go to the pharmacy today because I actually saw a guy about my sinus infection, and he prescribed me an antibiotic.

Pharmacies are weird, sad little places, aren’t they?

I had to wait about 25 minutes for my script, so I plopped down in a chair with my tissues and phone, and pretended to be reading emails when in reality I could hear everyone who was talking to the pharmacy register ladies.

The lady behind me gave her birth date and leaned in and said not quietly, “I am here for my Wellbutrin. I need it. I ran out and I have to have it.”

Lady, I have BEEN there with my antidepressant. You are NOT alone. (Of course she could be on it to quit smoking or for whatever other reason, who knows).

Anyway, there was some sort of mix up where the pharmacist told her she didn’t have a refill until December 9, and she was like, “but I”m out. I need more.”

I could here the desperation in her voice.

Then there was the line of people behind her. Every one of them looked glum. All of them.

I suppose it makes sense. If you’re standing in line at the pharmacy it’s probably not for something great. You’re probably not there for recreational drug, ya know what I mean?

While I was slumped way down in my seat, another woman argued loudly with the pharmacist about her prescription costing way more this time than the last time. I started to get nervous that things were going to get out of control, but the lady stormed off–without a script.

I felt sad and a little nervous for her.

What kind of prescription wan’t she paying for? Was it that she couldn’t afford it or just didn’t want to pay that money? Was it for her or a loved one? Was this just one instance or was she someone who had to get dozens of meds for a chronic problem, or was this just something small she wasn’t in the mood to pay for?

Then there were the moms with full carts of groceries and kids who were hanging from the blood pressure machine and the wracks of first aid splints while she looked frazzled and totally over it. I have been there too. I imagined that she was picking up a script for a kid with an ear infection, and she really just wants a break.

I also watched as a very small elderly man set at least eight empty prescription bottles on the counter. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was shakily holding up one after another and talking to the pharmacist. She took about five of them from him, and he put the others back in the plastic bag.

As he walked away, I smiled at him and said a little prayer that he didn’t just negotiate which were the most important to fill. In my head, those meds were for his wife, but they could have been for him. Or maybe he was returning unused pills. I don’t know.

It was seriously busy, and when they called my name, I tried to smile at the tired looking pharmacist even though I had a horrible headache from the sinus pressure and I just wanted to lie down. I admit, I grabbed my antibiotic, and walked out head down, though.

No one wants to see someone they know at the pharmacy.

Sinus Infection?

I think I have a sinus infection.

I’ve had this head cold thing for what will be two weeks tomorrow. It started last Thursday with a bit of a scratch in the back of my throat. The next day my entire head was all blown up and feeling awful.

I slept a lot of the weekend.

Last Monday I maybe should have stayed home.

I didn’t. I worked all last week.

I tried to sleep a lot this weekend.

My nose has been running nonstop and now my nose is all chafed and red and raw and sore.

This morning when I still felt like a pile of snotty garbage, I messaged my doctor because come on. I’m supposed to road trip my way to St. Louis next week Thursday evening and then share a room with two other people. No one wants to share a hotel room with a mouth-breathing mucus face.

Also I lost my voice today, and that is just not a good thing for someone who has to do three presentations next weekend.

So, I messaged my doctor.

He thinks it’s probably a sinus infection and that I should be seen.

That is easier said than done with my doc, but the stars aligned and his office was able to get me in with the PA on Friday just after lunch. Yes, I will have to take the afternoon off on Friday (which I don’t like because I have three days off coming up and I’m trying NOT to leave my students with a sub more than I have to), but at least (oh please let it be at least), I’ll be able to get some meds to get rid of this nonsense.

I’m going to hobble through the next day and a half of work and beg my afternoon classes not to be poop heads for a sub on Friday, and I’m going to get better.

Because snot is dumb.

Continuing Education

Since telling people that I am applying for a PhD program I have gotten a lot of astounded looks and even more comments that sound roughly like, “GOOD FOR YOU! And with three kids and working full time? Wow!”

Let me just first say that I know that the there is real affirmation behind these comments, and that the people saying them are really impressed (or at least I am choosing to assume positivity). I smile and nod, and mutter something like, “Well, I’m going to try.”

Honestly? I am terrified.

The last time I was in a graduate program, I didn’t have any kids. Shoot, I wasn’t even married for the first half of it. Yes, I was working full time, but the rest of my time was super flexible. The only person’s obligations I had to worry about were mine (and sometimes Cortney’s, but let’s be real: it did not matter if he had a haircut or meeting while I was in class back then).

Now, we are talking about a major disruption to our already crazy schedule. I already feel like our week’s are jam-packed with soccer (done now, whew!), scouts, consistory, and bowling. Now we are going to throw in a night that I am completely gone for class too.

Then there is actually the time I will have to do my homework.

I have my Master’s degree in the same program I am hoping to get my PhD in, so I already know it’s going to be a lot of work. I know there will be a lot of reading and writing. I am sure there will be some sort of online thing attached too. I graduated 9 years ago. Lots has changed since then, so I know every day will have to have some sort of block for me to just focus on class work.

Plus I will still be working full time.

Sometimes when people give me those, “WOW!” comments, failure flashes before my eyes and I wonder why I told ANYONE what I am doing.

At the same time, I am so excited to get back to being a student. I am eager to continue my studies and learn more about writing, literature, and the teaching of both. I am actually looking forward to research and picking apart the results of that research.

I’m excited to try new things.

I’m also terrified of failure.

But I have to try.

I have to do this. For me, but also to show my kids that when you have a dream, you have to at least go for it.

 

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